


Pillars of Sand and Salt

by sirenofodysseus



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Loss, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She glances away from him; every part of her aching and wishing she could say something new—something different—something that wouldn’t leave the both of them hurting and raw. </p>
<p>But she can’t—for she loves him more than he’ll ever know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillars of Sand and Salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damalur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damalur/gifts).



What he tells has never been the full truth.

 

They had a child once, long before Carlton Lassiter became Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department. Long before, Victoria Parker became a Defense Attorney for the State of California.

 

It’s a long and complicated tale of woe. Full of unfulfilled promises, unspoken words and unhappy endings. She’s never had the heart to tell the story; for _voicing_ it makes it real and forgetting (to her) has always been easier than remembering when they used to be happy instead of what they are now.

 

::::

 

Their first date was a staunch disaster, but she continues to remember it fondly. She often tells herself, if their first date had gone well…she wouldn’t have wanted a second. Or a third. Or a fourth date, for that matter. Victoria is a woman of small desires and perfection is something she’s never wanted. Perfection _is_ boring.

 

He brings her to his hole-in-the-wall apartment, where he _attempts_ to fix a simple meal. It turns into some giant fiasco with the fire department, his landlord and the guy from next door who apparently only speaks in fragmented English.

 

            “Sorry,” he mutters as they stare at the ruins of his kitchen, the cause of an electrical issue and not his cooking. She can only smile and kiss his cheek, and he looks at her as if she’s lost her goddamned mind.

 

Maybe she has. Maybe she hasn’t.

 

It’s way too soon to tell, though.

 

::::

 

They discuss their futures after date five.

 

It seems like such a _ridiculous_ conversation to have, especially while doing the required reading for Pre-Law but they have it anyway. She reads the same sentence over-and-over again, listening to him discuss his desire to become _Head Detective_.

 

She hums in content, leaning against him.

 

She doesn’t doubt his drive or his talent (and even after their divorce, she never does. She just can’t.).

 

She just (sometimes) wonders if his heart is truly in it. She’s heard about his weekends spent at Old Sonora Town and she’s heard about how he dreams of citing the Miranda Rights to a suspect, but she’s not sure if he knows what he truly wants.

 

Then again, does anyone know what he or she truly wants?

 

            “What about you, Victoria?” Carlton asks.

 

She highlights _Habeas Corpus_. “I want to win cases for the state and have a family. I was an only child growing up and I absolutely hated it.” There’s no hesitation or second-guessing in her voice. She thinks she’d make an excellent lawyer one day, even though her parents say it’s a waste of money (and time).  When he says nothing for a moment, she’s afraid she’s crossed a line. Maybe it _isn’t_ okay to speak all one’s hopes and dreams on the fifth date, but she _knows_ she wants a family to love. She blinks at him and opens her mouth to brush past the subject, feeling quite foolish. “I’m…”

 

            “That sounds…nice.”

 

His reply isn’t a question and she smiles, turning back to lace her fingers with his.

 

            “It does, doesn’t it?”

 

::::

 

It takes him all of five months, six days and seventeen hours (and twenty-two dates) before he says, _“I love you.”_ Carlton doesn’t say it on her birthday or on Valentine’s Day. He tells her on Gun Appreciation Day and for a moment, as they’re shooting guns, she thinks he’s talking to his beloved Colt revolver until he touches her shoulder after the smoke has all but cleared the area.

 

She turns and he says, _“I love you”_ again, She blinks, stares and before he can ask if she’s okay; she kisses him and mutters, _“I love you too.”_

 

In that moment, she likes to think they were invincible and inseparable. Meant to be and happy.

 

Sometimes, life has other plans too though.

 

::::

 

Carlton’s a _stubborn and selfish son-of-a-bitch_ , but so is she; they like to fight a little too much, drink a little too much and hurl colorful abuses until one of them says, _“I’ve had enough,”_ and leaves. She’s left him five times, swearing she’ll never return. He’s left her four times, swearing it’ll be a cold day in _hell_ before he returns.

 

By the next morning, they’re back to being that _ideal couple_ that their parents never tried to be; she tells him _“I’m sorry_ ,” and he tells her _“I’m sorry too,”_ and they kiss until their lungs burn.

 

::::

 

They fight again at six, a little over twenty-four hours since their last fight and she rolls her eyes at his words to _stay_.

 

She says he never listens and he says she constantly nags.

He says she’s asking for the impossible with him and she says he’s too headstrong for it all.

 

She says she doesn’t care as, _“I want you, Carlton, and only you,”_ and he drops to one knee on their hardwood floor without hesitation. “I can’t promise you the world, Victoria Parker, but I _can_ give you my entire heart and collection of guns to fire at will. Will you marry me and become Mrs. Victoria Lassiter?”

 

Victoria throws her arms around his neck, forgets that she nags and he never listens and kisses him passionately.

 

            “Is that a yes?” He breathlessly asks, tasting of coffee and smelling of gunpowder.

 

She eyes him, grinning. “What do you think?”

 

He returns her grin; strong, constant, and _so_ bright it reminds her of the sun.

 

::::

 

The Lassiter-Parker marriage is one giant fiasco. Her mother hates Carlton ( _“Victoria! His ears are too large! Any kid with him will resemble Dumbo.”_ ), his mother hates her mother and her father is too busy drinking to care about the state of her affairs.

 

The wedding cake tastes stale. It’s raining. Her dress is off-white and hemmed incorrectly and she’s thinking, _God, I made a horrible decision._ But all of that fades when he mutters and she whispers, _I do_ and they’re pronounced _husband and wife_.

 

_Mr. and Mrs. Carlton and Victoria Lassiter._

            “We should have eloped, Victoria,” Carlton whispers to her, holding her tight.

 

She laughs softly and agrees.

 

::::

 

When she learns she’s with child, she’s beyond ecstatic and _extremely_ nervous. The pregnancy might have been an accident (one of their condoms broke, her birth control wasn’t effective, etc…) but she’s left clutching the stick with the little pink plus like a crucifix as she sits in their bathtub.

 

They’ve been married for six months and he’s been with the Santa Barbara Police Department for three. They’re happy and it (obviously) wasn’t planned and she has no idea how Carlton will act, but all she knows is that she wants to keep their baby and she’ll do anything to keep it. It’s the perfect surprise of time and love, as it’s half hers and half the man she loves.

 

She only hopes Carlton understands.

 

::::

 

            “Carlton,” she hesitantly approaches him one night, clad in white. He looks exhausted from all the night and early morning shifts he’s suffering through and she wonders if she shouldn’t just _drop it_ , but then she remembers the little pink crucifix in her nightstand table and almost forgets to breathe.

           

            “Victoria?” Carlton, asks with a yawn. “Today was absolute hell.”

 

She frowns at him. “How do you feel about children?” She listens to him _sigh_ and her heart sinks, slightly.

 

            “How about we discuss this tomorrow,” he suggests and she grimaces. “It’s nearly midnight, Victoria. I need to be at work tomorrow at eight…”

 

            “Carlton, I’m pregnant.”

 

            “…o’clock and…” He stops to glance at her, his jaw dropping. “You’re…?”

 

She nods, trying to keep her emotions at bay. He has his arms around her in an instance and she holds him tight, while her eyes fill with tears at his reaction. She waits for Carlton to remark about her _silly tears_ , but nothing comes and she curses her pregnancy hormones as he continues to hold her.             

 

            “I’m going to be a _father_?”

 

Choked up, she can only nod.

 

            “I’m going to be a father?”

 

            “Did you think I wouldn’t want to keep our child, Victoria?” Carlton asks, before he kisses the top of her head. She says nothing, almost too ashamed of herself to answer his simple question. “I wish I had more to give, but…I love you.” She glances up to see his tired smile and she almost thinks about asking him to call in tomorrow.

 

_“Everything will be fine,”_ she hears him whisper and for a moment, relaxed and smiling, she truly believes him.

 

::::

 

And in the next moment, she’s not entirely _too_ sure what she’s—they’re—doing anymore.

 

She just knows there are red sheets, awkward silences, fleeting glances of sympathy and a doctor, who tells her, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing more we can do.”

 

::::

 

Joseph Stalin once said, _“A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.”_

 

(Victoria thinks a single death is both a tragedy and a statistic, especially a miscarriage.)

 

::::

 

_After_ , they go from full-sentences— _“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me tomorrow?”_ —to barely speaking— _“My day was okay, yours?”_ —to fighting and screaming all of the time:

 

            “Just _stop_ asking if I mind, Carlton. You’ll make the damned decision with or without my approval, so I don’t see why it fucking matters anymore.”

 

            “Victoria, I…”

 

            “You love your job more than me, you always have.”

 

            “You’re just being ridiculous.”

 

            “Forgive me for being _upset_ , Carlton,” she tells him, crossing her arms against her chest, “you’ve just asked if you can take a promotion, which will give me less time with you. I need _you_ too, you know.”

 

            “Have you taken your medicine today, Victoria?”

 

_No, I haven’t. I don’t need_ it _. I just need you._

 

The silence speaks volumes. 

::::

 

 

He takes the job anyway.

 

            “Head Detective Carlton Lassiter,” she hears him say one night and she grimaces.

 

_At least one of us is happy_ , she thinks.

 

::::

 

            “You’re being ridiculous, Victoria,” he tells her as he straightens his tie in the mirror. She watches him, struggling, and she _wants_ to reach out and help him—but she doesn’t. “If you’re not there, they’ll wonder if something’s…”

 

            “Maybe,” she interrupts him from the bed, still eyeing him, “we shouldn’t do this anymore.”

 

            “Do what anymore?”

 

She glances away from him; every part of her aching and wishing she could say something new—something different—something that _wouldn’t_ leave the both of them hurting and raw.

 

But she can’t—for she loves him more than he’ll ever know.

 

            “I want a divorce, Carlton.”


End file.
